15 July 2017 @ 07:05 pm
It's time to be getting back. Sinric brings his silver tea service down and asking for the bar to look after it for him.

The bar presents him with a basket of thing which he takes over to a table and starts packing it into a leather pouch that seems far too small for everything he's fitting into it. There are quite a few things there that don't belong in the dark ages - toothpaste, shampoo, painkillers.

The bar makes sure he has one last pot of tea and plate of pastries before he goes. There's more than enough to share if anyone would like some?
05 July 2017 @ 07:03 pm
Jim circa. 1992 wanders in wrapped up in a thick winter coat, scarf, hat, gloves, the lot. Without missing a beat he continues walking, shedding clothes as he goes until he's in just jeans and a T-shirt, dumping everything else into a chair. Bar lends him a pair of swimming shorts and towel, which he swaps for a bag stuffed full of books. He takes a glass of lemonade with him, and disappears off to the Caribbean inlet for a good long swim.

He's back when the sun gets low, perched on a bar stool with a decent base tan, and dripping water everywhere. He wipes his face with the towel, and says, 'okay, can I see it, please?'

The Book of Kells appears in front of him. He uses a dry bit of towel to open it up, because ancient manuscripts don't mix well with salt water and he might decide to sell it after all. In the meantime, he'll brush up on his Latin and admire the artwork. What a lovely day it's been. 

[OOC: Catch him inside or out.]
04 July 2017 @ 10:24 pm
Baze is at the bar, surrounded by crumpled paper balls.

What a waste of precious paper, he thinks, but he wants to get this note right, and writing it has been an exercise in frustration. He doesn't want to write it. He doesn't want anything to do with the recipient. But he's made a mistake, and he feels he has to address that.

Damn his honor.

Eventually, he settles on the proper wording. His handwriting is careful and precise, having been written slowly and with attention to every detail. This is no sloppy note, dashed off in a hurry--no, this is practically chary.

To Sinric )

There. He doesn't expect--or want--a response. He isn't sure if he feels better, but at least his mistake is corrected--or, at the very least, addressed.


Chirrut did always say Baze was more forgiving than he was.

(OOC: Plotlocked to the recipient of the note, thanks!)
02 July 2017 @ 09:32 pm
Outside on the grass, from the Scout Hut towards the beach, there is bunting and fairy lights and a large banner.


The fair is here for the whole week, and there's something for everyone, so come along and join us!

[ooc: OPEN TO ALL!
Threadhopping encouraged!

For further details, this post, and this post.

Horticultural show entries are now CLOSED.
Sports threads are now CLOSED.
Stalls/other are OPEN]
27 June 2017 @ 05:59 pm
Sinric comes down to the bar, laughing happily at the sight of all the colourful building blocks. He accepts his screen and smiles. "How wonderful! Thank you."

After a long moment of consideration he makes his selection.

There's a beautiful blonde woman with stunning cheekbones standing by the fire, singing softly and testing his her vocal range.
26 June 2017 @ 01:33 pm
[OOM: A believable lie is best couched in the truth.; or, a month passes. Sherlock is busy.]

The door opens from a long, brightly-lit corridor in a London hospital. Sherlock walks in wearing a hospital gown with a dressing gown over it, pulling along his IV on a stand. Technically he's only supposed to walk to the end of the hall and back -- but a little rest at the end of the universe should be fine, right?

He takes in all the changes, toys, and creatures that suddenly populate the bar in a glance. He sighs, wraps the dressing gown tighter around himself, and tugs the IV stand along to the nearest comfortable chair, which he folds himself into as best as he's able.
25 June 2017 @ 08:43 pm
Sinric is practising a song he's been working on.

For those familiar with the works of Gilbert and Sullivan, they may recognise the tune as being A wandering minstrel, I from The Mikado.

Only in medieval Frankish. And in a slightly different tempo to suit the change of language.
23 June 2017 @ 01:27 pm
[Millitimed to after Cassidy is released from the cells (threads still in progress)]

"Are there any windows in there?" Cassidy asks one of the waitrats before he enters the kitchen for dishwashing duty. "Cos I can't-- y'know, it'd be a great favor if you could like pull down the shades, see, I'm kinda-- the sunlight, it hurts me eyes and I have a skin condition, y'know, and, like-- yeah, wouldja do that? Oh, that's right nice of you, thanks muchly."

He can't believe he's talking to a rat. But, he's at the end of the universe, so, why the hell not.

Ambling into the kitchen, he casts his gaze around the room, with its shiny, fancy appliances and a pantry that he could probably get lost in. At this point he's just, like, fuck it. Might as well make the time pass. So he rolls his shirt sleeves up past his elbows and sets to washing the stack of dishes already piled in the sink.

Eventually he starts humming and singing softly to himself,

"In Dublin's fair city
Where the girls are so pretty
I first set my eyes on sweet Molly Malone
As she wheeled her wheelbarrow
Through the streets broad and narrow
Crying 'cockles and mussels, alive, alive-oh...'

[ooc: Begging slowtimes, please! And thanks to everyone who tagged so far, always open to more :)]

[tiny tags: Zso Sahaal, Baze Malbus, Rose Forrest, Bernard Black]
20 June 2017 @ 01:51 am
When hunger and a need to be social finally drives Emcee out of hiding, and when he's fairly sure that he won't randomly burst into tears at the drop of a hat, he comes downstairs to get a meal and a drink at the bar.

A note on a napkin pops up next to his plate of Swedish meatballs and mashed potatoes.

And he presses his fingers to his lips, suddenly looking as if he's going to cry.

[tiny tag: Cassian Andor]
07 June 2017 @ 06:59 pm
Sinric is outside today, on the far side of the lake, standing on a large boulder.

You may not be able to hear him, unless you're close but he's singing. Loudly, passionately and with great gusto.

If you're open to magic and such things, you may notice there's something more to Sinric's song, something laden with power.

From the clear blue sky, a small storm is gathering, clouds circling around where Sinric's standing.
06 June 2017 @ 09:44 am
Loki isn't bored with Milliways--yet.

Milliways has been entertaining. Much more entertaining than, say, the wormholeyswirlyvoidyspacy place he'd been before seeing?hearing?feeling? the door that opened here. That was boring. Milliways has provided its fun.

Robbing a bank was fun. Seeing ugly dreary sad little Midgard, and finding that it was every bit as ugly dreary and sad as he'd suspected, that was quote-unquote fun. Meeting Thor's little friends--and his boss--was fun. Exploring the library was fun.

Exploring the part of the library that held versions of books Asgard and its neighboring realms had lost thousands of years ago, and hundreds of thousands of years ago, that was fun. (Walking across a miles-long knife-edge of paper to reach it, and then fighting a beast made up of words, also fun. Were they put there on purpose to guard ancient lore? Or had the ancient lore drawn its own protection? Had the powers that be in Milliways just thought Loki needed a brief challenge?) Doing a little light reading on wormholes and the neglected paths of the universe--again, FUN.

Loki isn't bored yet, but he can tell he will be soon.

The only way forward is of course to step back into said wormholeyswirlyvoidyspace, armed with a little knowledge. Only way. But faced with the return, Loki finds himself...reluctant. So he's lingering in the bar, people-watching, door-watching, reading, fiddling with a little portable dimensional pocket thing he'd built for storing a few books. Right now it's storing--and unstoring--an emptied goblet of wine. Now you see it, now you don't. Now you see it...
29 May 2017 @ 07:57 pm
Galen Erso hasn't been released from the infirmary yet -- apparently, bacta hasn't been invented here -- but he has graduated to a smaller apparatus for his painkillers and readings, one he can wear in the pocket of his bathrobe.

Which is why he is wearing a bathrobe as he's sitting at a table on the lawn, in the sun, drinking something from a tall glass that is cold, and bright blue.

On his lap, there's a cat.

[[OOC: Do feel free to confuse him with Hannibal, or to have seen the other man on the beach, and wondering at the doubleness. Take the opportunity to learn and tell them apart. tinytag: galen erso]]
20 May 2017 @ 07:30 pm
Ganymede comes into the bar dressed in deep midnight blue and stark white, hair tied back and twined with golden ribbon, and moving stiffly, as if suddenly he felt his legitimate age with no explanation. At the bar he lays a hand on the wood and receives a small, fine linen pouch and a handful of bleached white bones, parts of their surfaces coated with lustrous gold.

They're astralagi, jackstones used to play a game older than Ganymede himself; with an easy flick of his hand one of the weird sinuous shapes is tossed into the air, coming back down balanced just below his knuckles on the back of his hand. It's an easy game to play, but hard to master; he has time. He may even be at it for a while between sips of strong, tart cherry juice. It's so much so that it nearly makes his eyes water, and as he hunches over he winces, sitting up straight again.

Suffice it to say he's a little sore.
15 May 2017 @ 04:34 am
A cluster of bubbles rises to the surface of the lake.

blub blub bloop

bloop blurp bloop bloop

The water is still for a moment.

And then it suddenly isn't, as a smooth, blue head and shoulders break through with a splash. With a flare of neck gills and a startled nictating of ocular membranes, Abe Sapien finds himself in Milliways.

It's been a while! If Abe had collagenous lips, he would smile.

He wades up onto shore, kind of like the Creature from the Black Lagoon, except clad in black wetsuit shorts, and less likely to abduct you than politely discuss the weather with you.

[OOC: Abe will not actively or inadvertently read your pup's mind, but he might pick up strong emotions, that's all. PM me with any questions!]
04 May 2017 @ 02:31 pm
Emcee is dressed as usual -- white sleeveless shirt, trousers with suspenders, impeccable makeup -- when he fetches some sheet music from the Bar and sits down at the piano. Laying his fingers on the keys, he practices a few chords and scales, warming up, finding the right notes.

It's how he clears his mind and focuses. It's how he returns to who he once was.

Softly and with earnest feeling, he begins to play and sing:

"I am what I am,
I am my own special creation...
So come take a look,
Give me the hook or the ovation...

It's my world that I want to have a little pride in,
My world and it's not a place I have to hide in--
Life's not worth a damn,
'Til you can say: hey world, I am what I am

Read more... )

Oh, yes. Definitely feeling like himself today.

[OOC: Link leads to Youtube video of John Barrowman performing this song in concert.]

tiny tag: cassian andor
01 May 2017 @ 03:32 pm
After a careless fall and a curt rescue in the bathhouse, Sinric is curled up in the couch by the fire, his ankle strapped and resting on a footstool.

He has a book open on his lap, a large pair of headphones over his ears. Rather distracted, he forgets himself and sings along - a classical piece, at least by the standards of most of the bar.

Company is always welcome.
28 April 2017 @ 01:29 pm
Here's the thing:

Chirrut Imwe has never learned to swim.

He's never needed to, not really. The only body of water big enough to properly swim in close to NiJedha was in the kyber caves, and it was cold enough to freeze a man solid within minutes.

So he never learned. It never became an issue.

Except now he lives (non!lives? after-lives? The terminology is difficult) in a place that has an abundance of water. Logic says that the blind man should just avoid the lake, or the pools, or the spa, because there's this saying about old dogs and new tricks. Chirrut may be called a mad dog sometimes, but he's also getting to be that proverbial old dog.

Chirrut never liked sayings like that anyway.

So this morning he laid out his plan to Baze with tactical precision, - finding a place that was a more controlled environment, tempting Baze with warmth, and then off-handedly noting that if Baze was too busy, he could go himself, it would be fine.

This would be why there are two Jedhan men, dressed in swim trunks, at the edge of one of the spa's heated pools. They are both battered and bruised - Chirrut's ribs are mottled to every color of the rainbow, Baze's face is sporting a heavy bruise and his hands are wrapped securely against further damage.

One of them is sure it can't be as hard as everyone is making it out to be. The other one is not so sure. They might not know they need help, but it would be advisable. Or at least, watching them flounder should be entertaining.

(tiny tags: Baze Malbus, Chirrut Imwe, Dodger, Mark)
21 April 2017 @ 02:57 pm
Sinric comes storming in like a thundercloud, the skirts of his tunic stained with mud and his eyes blazing dark gold.

He orders a glass of wine and sits down at the piano, playing a rather passionately thunderous piece that suits his mood.
18 April 2017 @ 10:14 am
Spring is in the air at Milliways. Literally, if you are allergy prone. Flowers are in bloom, the grass is green, the mud is everywhere, and the demon bunnies are busy ensuring the next generation will be a large one.

In the midst of all of this, smoke wafts across the landscape - bitter with the scent of burning flesh and mechanics, mixed with the salt air of the sea and the scent of sun-baked sand.

Somewhere in the smoke, somehow, between one cloudy drift and another, someone appears sprawled on the grass. A thin man, bloodied and marked with blaster char. A man who, for once in his life, is completely and utterly bewildered. As he lies there, the injuries he came with fade, ghosting away as if they never were.

This new addition to Milliways doesn't have much time to consider his new and much muddier lot in life before he is joined, at not so far a distance, by a second man. A mountain of a man, armored and scarred, the last remnants of the sand from a past life whipping past and disappearing into the grass.

(Tiny tags: Chirrut Imwe, Baze Malbus, Anakin Solo)

(OOC: The boys are going to be investigating the Bar, so feel free to find them there (covered in mud) or out back (also muddy).)

(OOC: Alright my lovelies, we're going into slowtime - new pups are still welcome, and while play may be sporadic tomorrow we'll both be back tomorrow night. May the Force of others be with you.)
09 April 2017 @ 07:14 pm
OOM: Goodbyes said, letters written, Sinric walks up the mountain and returns to the tree

{ooc: warnings for mentions of violence.}